Page 51 of The Seekers of Deer Creek

After she read Abel’s email of dismissal, Vivi stormed into Calla’s room in their suite and opened her sister’s suitcase. She flung around bits of silk and lace, a romance novel with a bright cartoon cover, a package of Gauloises, a tin of Altoids. Without articulating it, Vivi knew exactly what she was searching for: a reason to release her anger, which was, at its heart, only a profound helplessness.

Finally, in an inner compartment of Calla’s suitcase, she found a plastic pill bottle with a scratched-off label. Inside, shell-pink ovals clattered. They were no larger than Tic Tacs, harmless-looking. Momentary exultation soared through her, but it was replaced with a greater sense of self-loathing. Why was she like this?

Vivi admitted that she’d been looking for evidence of regression since the night Calla appeared on the museum steps. Every erratic breath, every strange twitch, every unreadable look became confirmation of what Vivi had always known about her sister. Calla was an addict. She would always be an addict. Vivi would never be free of any of it. The manic bursts of activity, the cavernous depressions, that worry that stalked Vivi, like Grendel’s mother in her gnashing anguish. History repeating itself, in a nightmare merry-go-round.

It wasn’t Vivi’s fault that she found what she was looking for. She pocketed the pills. There was nothing left but the confrontation that had been building for weeks—years. She went outside to wait for Calla.

Finally, at half past eleven, there was the sound of a motor in the distance. An electric Voxan tore down the road, screeching to a stop in front of the gates. Its driver twisted the throttle so the snarls of the motorcycle cutinto the peace of the estate. Laughing, Calla jumped from the back of the bike, shaking her hair behind her. There was a flush in her cheeks, a frenzied light to her eyes.

“Mon dieu, you’ll wake the dead,” she said. She leaned over to flick the driver’s collar. He pulled her to him, kissed her hard on the lips. His face was in shadow, so Vivi couldn’t tell who it was, but it didn’t matter. Calla drew away, staggering a bit as she waved him off. “Thanks for the ride, handsome.”

The Voxan revved away. As Calla passed Vivi, she said, “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

Vivi followed. “Who is he?”

“Alain? He’s a doll. I was having a drink in town, and he said he wanted to show me around. And hedid, if you know what I mean.”

“You can’t just go running off with a stranger.”

“You know what they say about strangers. Actually, I have no idea! Too many spritzes. Do you have any aspirin? My head is killing me.”

“You couldn’t leave a note? Or wait for me?”

Calla snorted. “The way you waited for me, before reading the rest of the journal?”

“You snooped in my laptop.”

“It was laying open. Your password’s been the same since you were thirteen. I only skimmed.” Calla struggled out of her jacket. She was noisily tromping up the stairs to the rosebud suite, unmindful of the sleeping guests. Once they got inside the rooms, she began to root in Vivi’s suitcase, looking for her toiletries bag. “Don’t deflect. You promised you would wait to read the rest of the entries with me. It wasourdiscovery.”

“You didn’t wait before going to the cottage.”

“Tit for tat, huh? Same as ever?”

There was a snag under Calla’s careless words, one Vivi didn’t want to examine just then. She was turned around. She’d expected to be the one lobbying accusations; she didn’t know she’d be playing defense in this conversation.

“So this was punishment,” she shot back, trying to recover the edge she’d given up. “You disappearing all day, in a foreign country with no way for me to find you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous. It’s apattern. I do something that makes you mad. You make me chase after you until I’m worried sick. And I can’t even apologize because by the time I find you, you’ve already moved on to the next absurdity.”

“When have you ever apologized for anything?”

Vivi noticed then that Calla was slurring. Or was she? Her voice shook, but it could have been hurt or anger or any one of the million emotions that Calla exhibited in a given day.

“What’s wrong with you?” Vivi demanded. Somewhere inside of her, she knew she wasn’t being fair, not completely. But she’d given everything up to follow that damn letter and Calla’s gut instincts. Didn’t Calla owe her for that?

“Because something always has to be wrong with me. It’s the only way your story makes sense.”

“You’re drunk.” Vivi grew lofty and distant, the most direct course in provoking Calla’s temper. Pushing the buttons of sisterhood, a habit as regular as breathing. “You should sober up before we talk.”

“You’re never happy unless you have a mess to fix. And even if there isn’t a mess, you create one in that overactive brain of yours. Where the hell is the medicine cabinet?”

Vivi reached into her pocket and threw Calla’s pills at her. They smacked her on the chest. “You could just take one of these.”

“Bee—” Calla regarded her soberly. “It isn’t what you think.”

“It’s exactly what I think. It always is. You’ll never change.”